


Lent

by lfvoy



Category: Earth 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-30
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lfvoy/pseuds/lfvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human or Terrian? Which is Mary? After she runs away into the woods by herself, she learns the answer.  Rated up for mild intimate/domestic violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Outcast._

The word swirled around her, in her, through her, emanating from the echo of every step. The comforting beat of the Earth’s heart was gone, leaving only the crunch of snow under her feet.

She didn’t even notice when Yale stopped calling after her.

Mary stumbled on, hearing only the word. Outcast. She was Outcast. Yale had spoken to her of kindness, and she’d believed him, and been rejected by everything she’d known. She was Outcast, banned from the Earth itself, with nowhere left to go.

There was only the word, and her breathing, and the crunch of her boots on the snow, for a very long time. She had no idea how long, and didn’t care. It only ended when she walked face-first into a tree. The recoil threw her backwards and she landed hard, gasping.

She hadn’t seen it. It was dark. And something _hurt_.

Mary reached up to touch her face. The skin wasn’t warm and smooth, like the dirt. It was rough and wet and cold, but it burned when she touched it. There was something on her fingertips when she drew them away. It was slippery, but not like water. It smelled and tasted metallic. She touched her face again, finding more of the liquid. It was hot. How could it be so hot when her face was so cold?

She’d never thought to ask questions when she was with the People. She never needed to. If she’d stayed with the humans, someone there might have explained it to her. But they were gone, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be around them again anyway. How would they know they weren’t just making another mistake?

The hot places on her face seemed to be starting to cool, and the liquid on her fingers was drying, forming a crusty substance. Her face didn’t burn anymore when she touched it. Bracing herself on the Earth beneath her, Mary pushed back up to a stand.

That was when she noticed the wind. It blew across her face, starting the stinging again. It slithered under the collar of her jacket like a knife, chilling the skin under the clothing. She was shivering. It was winter, not far from the Time of Hibernation. It was too cold to be above the Earth.

But she couldn’t go back Inside.

Perhaps just being _closer_ to the Earth would be enough. She dropped to her hands and knees, feeling around in the darkness. The snow stung her bare palms as badly as the tree had stung her face. Mary ignored it and began to inch forward, digging, looking for the Earth underneath. She found it just as something else smacked into her face, bringing back the stinging-hot feeling that had gone away just a little while before.

She smelled wood. A bush. There was snow on the bush, but none on the Earth underneath. The bush protected the Earth. Maybe it could protect her too. Scrambling forward, she tried to squeeze herself underneath. The bush cried out; she could hear its branches bending and breaking while she sought a comfortable position. _Please, please, don’t name me unwelcome just because I am Outcast._

As if in response, the branches shifted a final time and Mary found herself lying supine, her back completely upon the Earth. The branches began to settle their movement, covering her, protecting her. She closed her eyes. She was Outcast, but she would not be killed.

* * *

She had no idea how long she had slept, but she had not Dreamed and because of that Mary awoke tired. There was more wetness on her face, but when she touched it, it wasn’t the hot, metallic liquid from before. This was more like water. Tears. She was crying. The humans had said that was something they did when they were unhappy.

But she was not human! She would not cry!

Gasping, gulping, swallowing the unexpected lump in her throat, Mary sat up. She’d forgotten about the bush until she felt the hot-cold scratching of the branches on her face. With a strangled noise, she dropped back down onto her back. The swaying of the bush above her stilled. It was still dark, and she couldn’t see.

The bush’s motion had stopped, but she could still hear branches moving above her, along with an odd, low trilling sound. Was it the wind? Could the wind sound like the People? Some of the branches above her moved again, and she could hear them creaking as if under a weight.

That wasn’t the wind.

Pushing herself away from the base of the bush, Mary tried to scramble out the way she’d come in. Tears dripped down her face again. The Earth didn’t want her after all. She reached up to unsnag her jacket from one of the branches, and then shrieked when something sharp came down on her hand, puncturing the skin.

She felt the same hot-cold stinging reaction she’d had before, but it was worse, so much worse this time. It was almost as if her skin were on fire. She could even imagine she felt it bubbling. The burning spread from her hand up her arm and it hurt. _It hurt!_

Amidst the burning pain, Mary collapsed. The Earth had decided to kill her after all.

* * *

She hadn’t expected to wake up again, but she did, and this time there was light. It flickered and jumped, but it was light. There was also warmth, and while she could hear the wind she couldn’t feel it. Everything around her was soft.

Mary opened her eyes to see a fire like the ones the humans had made the night she stayed with them. She was wrapped in fur. Her hand throbbed when she moved it, but she had no difficulty bringing it up to her face. There was a fresh scar there, circular, and the skin around it had fainter circle marks.

A human head was lying beside the fire, glinting gray-blue in the flames’ light.

Recoiling and trilling the danger warning, Mary scrambled out of the furs and to her feet. They felt shaky underneath her, but she started to run anyway. She had to get away from this place!

She’d only made it a few steps when something caught her from behind. She trilled the warning even louder and fought the bonds forming around her body. She could see hands, and the trills caught on her tongue when she heard a voice.

“Don’t run away. Please.”

Startled, Mary stopped struggling. The hands withdrew and she heard her captor step around her so they could stand face-to-face. It was a human, but not one of the humans that had been with the Eden group. This one was young, male, and dressed in clothing similar to the furs she’d thrown off seconds before.

Her hand throbbed painfully, and she swayed on her feet. The human reached out again, this time steadying her. “You were stung by a Koba. You need to rest.” She found herself being guided back to the fire, to the furs next to that gruesome head. Seeing it, she started to struggle again, trilling her distress.

The human seemed to understand. Releasing her, he reached over to pick up the head. “It’s a mask. Just a mask!” He showed her the underside, showed her how it was empty inside. “See?” He held it out to her.

She reached out with her uninjured hand. “Not…killed?”

“No.” The human let her touch the mask. “Just made.”

She ran her fingers around the edges and then looked back at his face. “Who…?”

He put the mask on the ground and eased her back down onto the blankets. “My name is Whalen.”


	2. Chapter 2

She nearly gagged before she succeeded in spitting the food out of her mouth. “This is _flesh_.”

“Of course it is,” said Whalen. “I told you I went hunting while you were still in the coma.”

“It is…” she searched her mind for the right word. “It is bad.”

“It’s what there is,” he answered. “No fruit grows in the winter.”

Mary made a face. “If we hibernate we don’t need to eat flesh.”

“Humans don’t hibernate.”

“Terrians do.” But she was Outcast. Reaching into the bowl, she drew out the next morsel. While she couldn’t avoid wrinkling her nose, she managed to chew and swallow the meat. It felt dry in her throat, not like the delicious moisture of spring fruits. She choked a little bit.

He handed her a cup of water. “Here, drink. It will make it easier.”

She did, and raised her eyes to meet his. “You are kind.”

He dropped her gaze and stood up, walking away from the circle of firelight. “No. No, I’m not.”

She forced down another bite of meat and sat up, listening to his footsteps. “Is sharing not kind?”

He didn’t answer right away, and she would have stood up to follow him except that she heard the pause in his footsteps. There was a soft sigh, as if in exertion, and he walked back into the light, toward the fire. A couple of branches were in his hands, and she realized he meant to build the fire back up from where it had waned while they ate.

Mary did get to her feet then, although her legs were still shaky. She approached him as he knelt down, reaching for the fire. “Show me.”

“I’m sorry?”

She gestured at the fire. She’d made them before, but only with Lightning, and she had no more Lightning. “How to use trees to make fire.”

* * *

She opened her eyes to see that it was white, warm and welcoming around her. Mary rejoiced, and thought she might feel more tears on her face but it remained dry. She closed her eyes and _listened_. Yes, she was right. She was Dreaming again.

She turned around and around on the Dreamplane she thought she’d never see again. There was nothing except Earth and Sky, but that was enough. She was home. She was _home!_

Turning around again, she stumbled against something and lost her footing. If it hadn’t caught her, she would have fallen. Twisting, she looked up and saw Whalen’s face. “Do you…Dream?”

He frowned. “Outcast. You are Outcast.”

She trilled her distress, and saw the blue mask form over his head. The face of a Person appeared next to him. “Outcast.”

Getting her footing and turning around again, Mary saw the People gathered all around her. “Outcast. Outcast. Outcast.”

“Please!” she cried.

“Outcast. Outcast. Outcast. Outcast.” The voices surrounded her, overlapping, creating a rush of sound that buffeted and began to overwhelm her. Something wrapped around her middle again, restraining her. _Outcast. Outcast. Outcastoutcastoutcastoutcastoutcast…._

Gasping, Mary awoke from the Dream to discover that something really was wrapped around her middle: Whalen’s arms. He held her against him. Touching. They were touching, and she trembled slightly where her back met his chest.

The tremble was his voice. “What happened? Are you okay? What did you see?”

Trilling softly, she gathered herself and stood up, moving toward the shelter door. The sky was streaked with the beginnings of dawn, but the night-cold was still there. “I Dreamed.”

“Yes. You did.”

She looked out at the World, then back at him. “Do you Dream?”

“Never by choice.”

“Why would you not want Dreaming?”

Sitting up, Whalen shook his head. “I hear voices and they drive at me, the way hers did for so long.” His hand slid along the floor toward the mask, but he didn’t put it on. “There’s no protection.”

“Metal will not protect you from the Dream. Or the People.”

“Do I need their protection, with you here?”

She turned to look out the door again. “I am Outcast.”

He came up and put his hand on her shoulder. “I suppose I am too.”

His hand was warm, real, comforting. She liked the way it felt when he touched her.

* * *

She was building up the fire later that morning when he walked out of the shelter, carrying his laser bow. Mary frowned. “That is a weapon.”

Whalen pushed the mask over his head. “So is Lightning.”

“Lightning is only for protection, for safety. You are planning to kill.”

“I am going hunting.” There was a tone in his voice that she couldn’t identify without seeing his face. “We need more food already.”

“There are mosses. Underneath the snow. They can be food.”

“They don’t give you as much strength as meat. We need all we can get in the wintertime.”

“It does not require killing. The Earth is kinder, and gives of herself.”

He came up to her, facing her down with the mask, waving the laser bow around. “I _need_ to _hunt!_ To get away from the voices!”

Frightened, she dropped into a crouch, trilling her distress.

 _“Stop that!”_ With a choked cry, he ran out into the snow.

Still trilling softly, Mary eased from her crouch into a sitting position on the ground. Was this why he was Outcast? Because he hunted, he killed? She had thought he was simply being kind to bring food to her, but was it really because he wanted the excuse to hunt?

Mary dropped one hand and laid it flat on the bare Earth beneath her. She did not want to be a reason for killing. It was wrong.

* * *

He returned to the camp before dark, dragging the carcass of a grazer into the clearing before the hut. Mary went to the door and watched as he hung it by its hind legs and then began to skin it. Blood streamed out. Gagging, she retreated back inside.

He came in some time later, going to a bucket in the corner to wash his hands. Thankfully, he carried no meat. Drying his skin with a length of cloth, he stood up and gazed down at her. “You need to eat.”

“I…” she trailed off, fighting the urge to gag at the memory of seeing him skin the grazer. “I am not hungry.”

“It’s winter. You have to keep your strength up.”

She shook her head and turned away. Making a scoffing noise, he left the hut. She could smell the fire outside, and could hear the meat sizzling as she cooked it. Mary closed her eyes and tried to ignore the pain in her middle.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re more like them than I thought. The Terrians.”

She woke from her doze and sat up. Outside, she could see that full dark had fallen.

“I lived among the People for much time,” she finally answered.

“How long?”

She thought for a minute. She had no idea how humans counted time. “One winter, then a leap winter. This would have been the third leap winter.”

He appeared thoughtful for a moment. “Sixteen years. How old were you when…?”

“I don’t know. I was learning to read when the…when the Outcasts came for my mama and daddy and….” she trailed off, swallowing. “The People took me in.”

“Maybe three or four, then.” He sat down across from her. “No wonder you won’t eat meat. They taught you that, just like my father taught me —” he broke off suddenly, then started again. “What did you eat when you were with them?”

“Salt fruit. Spring fruits when they grew,” she said, remembering. “Mosses. The People…helped me too.” How could she explain? “When it was too bad, too cold, they took me Inside. Then I wasn’t hungry anymore. And I was never hungry when I Dreamed.”

“But they won’t take you Inside anymore.”

“No.” She was Outcast.

“And you can’t Dream now.”

“No.” But then she hesitated. Hadn’t she Dreamed the other night? Or had she? Had it just been a regular dream, like the humans had? “Maybe. Probably not.”

“Your face is pale. Are you hungry?”

She turned away and fell silent for a long time before admitting it. “Yes.”

“You ate the meat last night. Why not now?”

“I…” she took a breath. “I just keep seeing the grazer. It was alive at sunrise.”

He touched her hand. “I would bring you something else if I could.”

This time, she turned to look at him. “Why? You know what I think of the hunting, the killing. Why do you even let me stay if you don’t like what I think?”

Whalen stood up and turned toward the thin piece of wood that was nailed over part of the hut’s wall. He stared at it. “I don’t know. But I like having you here. I will not cast you out the way they did. It isn’t human.”

Neither, she thought, was she. But she didn’t say it.

* * *

Mary unslung the pouch from her waist and, using the small knife she had found and started using, sliced into the vines that held it together. He hadn’t had anything she could use for gathering mosses, so she had taken a piece of cloth and roughly sewed it together.

Whalen looked up from cleaning his furs. “What is that?”

“Mosses.” Spreading the cloth on the ground, she gathered a handful and held it out. “They are there. Under the snow.”

He took the proffered items and sampled them. “This is good. It’s better than the moss I’ve found, even in the summer.”

“I listened,” she said. “I was quiet. The Earth told me where to look.”

“You can still hear the Earth?”

“Yes. If I listen hard.” She looked around for someplace to store the moss. “I can go back. There is more. Enough, I think, to keep strength.”

He shook his head. “Not in winter. But maybe it’s enough not to hunt so often.”

She smiled a little. “Where should I put this?”

“I’m not sure.”

He looked around, and then suddenly looked down at the piece of cloth she was using and went still. His face twisted and he stood up, advancing toward her. “Why did you _use_ that? That’s _mine_ , it’s her last message, you should have _left it alone!_ ”

She scrambled backward, trilling softly. “It was — it seemed to be the best for —”

“No!” Snatching it away, he sent the moss flying. “Don’t ever touch that. _Ever!_ ” He was breathing heavily.

“I didn’t know.”

His hands clenched into fists, but then slowly relaxed. He took a breath. “Now you do.”

Folding the cloth into his robes, he stalked out of the hut and jammed the mask over his head before picking up the laser bow and heading out into the woods.

Climbing to her feet, Mary went to the door and looked after him. Then she turned around and looked at the inside of the hut again. Moss was scattered everywhere, mixed too much with the dirt for her to sift out. They wouldn’t be eating any more from this collection.

* * *

“Who were your parents? Your human parents, I mean.”

He’d been gone overnight but had returned the next morning, carrying meat instead of bringing the carcass with him to butcher in front of the hut. She was able to eat this without gagging, though she had to do it slowly, a bite at a time.

She took a drink of water from the cup he’d handed her. “Biologists.”

Whalen watched the fire before them. “Mine were too. But I was born a long time before you were. It must have been a different group.”

“Where did they live?”

“Here.”

“I thought they would have lived in the garden. Where we lived.”

“The garden?” He was calm now, simply talking to her.

“The one that the Eden humans use. Do you know it? It is where I was born.”

“No. We didn’t live there. I’m not sure it was even built.” He stared into the fire for a long time. She managed to get another bite of the meat down.

Shifting position, he took out the folded piece of cloth. “Do you remember how to read?”

“It was too long ago. With the People, I never needed to.”

He spread it out on the ground. She stared at it, not moving.

“It’s all right. Come here. Let me show you.” His finger traced one of the marks on the cloth. “The letters mean different sounds. The sounds combine to make words.”

She edged closer. “Why are you showing me this?”

“I want to show you why I was upset. This is special. It’s the voice that answers all the voices. The Edenites brought it to me. They,” he said, “are kind.”

She cocked her head sideways. “If you know the Eden humans, why aren’t you with them?”

“Because I am not kind.” He pointed to her jacket. “Why aren’t you?”

Now she stared into the fire. “I was not Outcast before I met them.”

He reached up and touched the tips of his fingers to her face. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday. I’m…still learning how to be around real people. Other humans, I mean. The ones that don’t invade your dreams.”

She realized that she hadn’t missed the Dreaming in several days, and she covered his hand with her own. It seemed the right thing to do. “I understand. Dreams are different now.”


	4. Chapter 4

Mary’s hand slipped, causing her arm to slide flat against the side of the hut. Straightening, she looked at her jacket sleeve and hissed in annoyance. It was covered in the mud she’d been using to fill in the spaces between logs. Scraping it against the logs, careful to avoid the area she’d already filled in, she tried to get the mud off.

“Here. Wait. Let me have that.” Whalen tugged at her jacket, trying to slip it from her shoulders.

She shrugged out of it and then shivered under her coveralls. “It is cold.”

“And getting colder.” He paused in wiping a rag across her jacket sleeve to look at the sky. “It will storm tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“The sky tells me.” He looked around. “We’ll need to get food before it comes.”

“Does that mean —”

“Unless you know of something else.” It had become a common exchange.

Mary looked down. She didn’t know anything else. So she’d been eating the meat he brought her. He never brought the raw carcasses into the camp anymore, so she never had to see what it had been before it was killed.

He picked up the laser bow. “You should learn how to do this.”

This was new. It had never been a part of the conversation before. _“What?”_

“If I get hurt, I won’t be able to hunt.”

“No! I will not kill!”

He sighed in disappointment. “All right. Another day, then.”

“No. Teach me —” she hesitated. “Teach me how to read the sky instead. How you know to look for storms.”

“I will when I get back.” He put the mask on and looked at her. “But the sky can’t keep you from starving.”

* * *

Mary opened her eyes and went still. Sometime during the night while they slept, she and Whalen had turned toward each other. They were wrapped close, his arms around her shoulders, her face against his neck. She had to turn her head a little to get her breath.

It wasn’t unusual for them to wake up wrapped together. But before this, she always found herself with her back against his chest, his arms around her while they faced the same direction. It conserved body heat, he told her.

But sometimes, after they woke up, his eyes would follow her around the camp while they did the morning chores. Sometimes she’d meet them, blue like her own, and he’d turn away muttering something. When that happened, he usually dropped was he was doing, picked up the laser bow and mask, and stomped off into the woods for a while.

She didn’t understand. The touching felt good. Why didn’t he like it? Why did it make him want to hunt?

She’d wondered if she was the only one who liked the touching.

He stirred slightly and moved his hands on her back, bringing her awareness back to the present. She closed her eyes. It felt good and, without thinking, she pressed a little closer.

He sighed and slipped his hands into her hair. One tangled into it and the other brushed it aside, exposing her neck and ear. Still asleep, he shifted and buried his face against the exposed skin. His breathing was heavier now, almost harsh in her ear.

Although she wasn’t cold, Mary shivered. No, she realized. She wasn’t the only one who liked the touching.

But they’d never touched like this before, and it felt _really_ good and…odd. Almost scary. Like he was touching her all over instead of just in her hair. Then she felt him press his lips against the skin behind her ear. It was — it was — she couldn’t find the words. She heard herself inhale sharply.

In the next moment she found herself thrust nearly out of the furs, on her back. He stared down at her, eyes blazing. “You’re a witch,” he breathed. “Just like the others. Just like _her_.”

She started to sit up. “What —”

“Leave me alone!” Jumping to his feet, he scrabbled for the mask and laser bow.

She stood up behind him, finding his robes, trying to wrap them around him before he went out in the cold. She could not stop him from going to hunt now. She knew that. But she was surprised when he flung her away so hard she crashed against the piece of wood tacked across part of the hut’s inner wall. It broke under her weight, and she fell through into the room beyond.

This seemed to panic him. Whalen dropped to his knees. “No, _don’t!_ ”

Recovering from the fall, she opened her eyes and looked up. That was when she saw the skulls.

Human skulls. Real ones, not masks this time.

He had been right. He was not kind. And now she understood why.

“Mary —” he began. It was the first time he’d used her name, even though he’d asked when she first came to him. She ignored that, alternately shrieking and trilling as she scrambled around the edge of the shelter toward the door. When he reached toward her, she kicked out. She had to keep him away. Had to keep him, not just from killing this time, but from killing _her_.

She pulled herself to her feet using the doorway, and he caught the edge of her robe. “No, you don’t understand, it wasn’t —”

“Then why did you _keep_ them!” Twisting, panting, she slipped loose of the robe. She was still wearing the coat the Edenites had given her. It would be enough. She would _make_ it be enough.

Trilling, crying, she stumbled off into the woods. She was Outcast again, this time at her own behest. She was alone and there was only silence and the scream of her thoughts and the crunch of snow under her feet.

She didn’t even notice when Whalen stopped calling after her.

* * *

She’d crawled into the hollow of a tree when she was too exhausted to run anymore. It was shelter enough for the night, but she knew Whalen could track her there very easily, if he hadn’t already. She crept out of the hollow carefully, mindful. But there was only silence outside.

Creeping around to the camp from the back, she realized he wasn’t even in it. Moving quickly, Mary slipped into the hut and found what she sought. A knife. Two blankets and her robe. Her hand hesitated over the cloth with the message on it, but she left it where it lay.

Quickly, she wrapped her things into a package and ran from the hut back into the woods. She looked at the sky and frowned. A storm was coming today or tomorrow, and it looked like a hard one, bringing several inches of fresh snow. She didn’t have much time to find shelter.

Making a quick decision, she went in the opposite direction from her earlier trail, down toward a valley, hoping for caves. She moved quickly, stopping only to gather food now and then.

Her luck held. Near nightfall, she found an entrance hidden among the brush. It opened into a chamber that was just tall enough for her to stand up and just wide enough for her to lie down. Feeling her way around, she found an opening at the back and squeezed through, finding herself in a larger chamber that had fresher air in it. That meant there was an opening back to the outside from within here; she had a bolt-hole.

Returning to the outer chamber, she decided that there was enough overhang to keep snow and rain from getting in, and that if she was careful not to disturb the brush while coming and going, the entrance wouldn’t be easily visible. Neither chamber had any sign of habitation.

It was a good place. She removed the pack she’d made from the blankets and eased it down to the cave floor. Mary herself followed, letting herself slide down one of the walls to a sitting position. She kept her knife close by. She knew she should finish setting up camp, but found herself suddenly exhausted now that the fear was fading.

Safe within the Earth, Mary fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

She awoke gasping and shaking. She couldn’t breathe! Crawling to the mouth of the cave, Mary saw that snow had accumulated above its top, sealing her in. It had also sealed the bolt-hole. This was nothing like the way the Earth closed around her. It wasn’t comforting. It was suffocating, and it scared her.

She raised her hands and started digging through the snow. Fortunately, it hadn’t accumulated much above the shelter’s height and within a few moments she emerged from the snow bank, gasping harder as she breathed in the cold but clear air. With a start, Mary realized that she had been lucky to wake up when she did. The Earth still had some kindness left.

Sliding back down the hole she had made, she went to the bank of the chamber where she had stored her food. There was none left. The Earth, apparently, was done with its kindness. The snow was far too thick to allow for digging to find more edible plants. The only thing available would be any other animals that emerged into the daylight following the storm.

The animals were the only edible wildlife available.

After the time spent with Whalen, she realized, she probably could figure out how to at least trap a small animal. But she did not want to hunt! She did not want to kill! That would make her just like him and all of the other humans who harmed!

The gnawing pain in her stomach and her head demanded a response. Feeling dizzy, she stepped back toward the snow bank and took two handfuls. The water should satisfy her stomach for a little while, enough time for her to decide what to do next.

But she couldn’t think of any other solution. If she was going to eat, she would have to kill.

* * *

She crouched behind a bush, remaining utterly still despite the rising bile in her throat. Her efforts were rewarded when the rodent that was surveying her decided she wasn’t a threat and came closer. Mary held herself still, despite the growing urge to move, until it was close enough that she wouldn’t miss when she came down with the knife.

She didn’t. At the point of the knife, the rodent twitched once and died. She gagged on the acid in her throat and felt like she might throw up, but there was nothing in her stomach. Recovering, she turned to look at the knife and the dead rodent again.

Crawling to it, she removed the knife. What to do next? She couldn’t eat the fur; she needed to get to the flesh beneath. She remembered that Whalen used to peel the fur off. Looking closer at the wound from her knife, Mary was able to identify the demarcation between skin and flesh. She slid the point between the two and started to remove the layer of fur.

There was blood everywhere, making her task messy and difficult. It was still warm and she thought it might permanently stain her skin.

Mary gagged at the very thought of eating the bit of flesh she’d managed to remove from the animal. She had to close her eyes and force it into her mouth and down her throat, and it was hard not to bring it back up again. But she managed to keep it down.

She’d done it. She had killed and then eaten. Tears dripped down her face even as she continued skinning the rodent.

“So you learned to do it after all.”

Startled, she fell backward onto the Earth, both her knife and the remains of her meal slipping from her hands. She looked up, and thought to scream, but her stomach abruptly rebelled and she found herself on her hands and knees in the snow.

Whalen crouched beside her and put his hand on her back. “I’m sorry. That couldn’t have been easy for you.”

She looked up at him miserably, tears streaming from her eyes.

* * *

With quick, practiced strokes, Whalen finished skinning the rodent. In his capable hands, it didn’t take long, and when he was done he gently picked up the remains, bundled it together, and buried it under a bush.

Straightening up and wiping his hands, he brought her the small package of meat and offered it. “You got a good start.”

She raised her head from where she’d leaned it against her knees, but made no move to accept the package.

“Take it. You must be very hungry.”

“I killed,” she whispered.

“Yes. You _have_ to eat it now.”

Their eyes met. “Why?”

“Otherwise its death doesn’t mean anything. It’s just dead. It didn’t have a chance to give life to someone else.”

She’d never thought about it that way, and reached toward the package. But she overbalanced from her position and he dropped to his knees to catch her. “You’re worse off than I realized.”

It took all of her energy to flinch away. “Do not touch me!”

Silently removing his hands, he turned around to sit beside her, handing her the package from the side. She was careful to make sure their hands did not touch.

They sat in silence for a while. Before, their silences had always been comfortable. Neither of them had a tendency to speak that much. But this time, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air. Mary tried to ignore it. It wasn’t hard, given how sick she was feeling.

“You really should eat some of that. You’re only going to get sicker if you don’t.”

Trembling, she removed a sliver of the meat and brought it to her mouth. She needed a handful of snow to swallow it, but she was able to keep it down. Trying to force herself not to gag, she took a second bite. It was easier this time, and the third bite finished the piece.

Whalen was watching her. “That’s probably enough for right now. You don’t want to shock your system.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, still feeling sick although she felt like she’d be able to keep the meat down.

“Are you strong enough to get back?” he asked.

She tensed, wary. Did he mean to try and find her cave?

“I don’t want to know where you’re sleeping. I just want to know that you’ll get back there without collapsing.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll take you back with me.”

Somewhere, she found the energy to start scooting backward. “No!”

“Even if it doesn’t storm, you can’t stay out. The exposure will —”

She stopped, steadying herself, and took a breath. “I will be all right.”

Whalen nodded and got to his feet. “Night will come before long. You should start back now.” He looked around, and it occurred to her that he would be able to track her back to her cave regardless of whether she wanted him there.

As if reading her thoughts, he looked down. “I won’t follow you. I promise. But I do…” he trailed off for a moment. “I do wish you’d come back. Another day, when you’re stronger. Not to stay. I just…I’ve been hunting for two people now, and there’s more than I need.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You didn’t let me tell you. Those skulls aren’t mine.”

She stared at him from across the fire. She hadn’t come back to the shelter until she had finished the meat from the rodent. Even then, she had considered gathering more food on her own, but the idea of killing again made her shake. His words had echoed through her memory. _You have to eat it now. Otherwise its death doesn’t mean anything. It’s just dead._

She’d told herself it was just to get the meat that would go bad unless it was eaten. To give meaning to the deaths of those he’d already hunted. But she’d lingered as he built a fire and cooked part of it. She was careful to stay on the outside of the fire, where she could bolt for the woods without having to pass either it or him.

She hadn’t actually gone inside the shelter. She didn’t want to know if the skulls were still there.

“Why do you keep them?”

He stared out at the woods beyond her. “I can’t stand to look at them long enough to take them out. When you fell in that morning — that was the first time anyone had been in that room since the Edenites brought me her message.”

“Who is this person — who is ‘her’?”

“My mother.” There was an odd tone in his voice. “I never really knew her until I got the message. I only…I only knew what my father had told me.”

“The skulls. They are his then?”

He nodded, still not looking at her. “They’re from our — my parents’ team. All of them are there except my parents themselves.”

“Where are they?”

“In a cave. She stopped him, but it was too late for her.” His tone became bitter. “Or the others. I was left alone.”

“How did you live? Without them or the People?”

His shifted his gaze to meet her eyes. “I became like them. I learned to kill, to even — enjoy it. That is why I am not kind. I’m barely human.”

* * *

“I am not human at all,” she said softly, another day, when she had come back to bring him moss and roots she had gathered.

He paused and looked up from where he was crouched against the shelter, packing her gifts in storage containers against the side. “You were born human. You live as a human now.”

Mary made a frustrated gesture. “I grew up among the People. They — they wanted me to be a link, but there were no other humans. I never learned how. I became…too much like them.”

“Is that what you want? To be like them?”

She turned away. She didn’t know anymore.

“You are kind,” he said simply. “You do not enjoy killing. That is human.”

“What is human? Being kind? Or enjoying killing?”

He straightened from the crouch, dusting his hands off. “Both. Neither. Perhaps that’s why the Terrians find us so confusing.”

“Perhaps that is why humans confuse themselves.”

Silence stretched between them as they stood there, awkward, doing nothing, looking anywhere but at each other.

“One thing I’ve never done,” he finally said, “is killed a human. Or a Terrian. Or even a Grendler.” He paused. “I will not kill you.”

She glanced at him and found him staring at her. Nervous, she took a step back.

He didn’t move. “I’m not going to ask you to come back. I don’t want to frighten you away. But I do want…” he trailed off. “I want you to teach me. Please.”

Mary thought of all the things he had taught her. How to make a fire. How to read the sky. How to maintain the camp.

How to hunt and trap. How to kill, if necessary.

She shuddered. “What could _I_ teach _you_?”

“Kindness. How _not_ to enjoy killing.”

“What about —” she looked down to where their tracks mingled on the old snow still on the ground. “What about that morning?”

He reached out toward her, stopping just before their fingertips would have brushed. “I liked it. I was afraid. Were you?”

“Yes,” she said, meaning both and knowing that he understood her.

* * *

She was walking back from the shelter when the Person — the Terrian, she thought now — appeared before her in the path. Startled, Mary stumbled backward and looked up. “I am Outcast.”

He trilled to her, and she realized she still understood. The Time of Hibernation was over. He was surprised she was still alive after this long.

It took her a minute before she could form a reply. “I am learning.”

What are you learning, he asked.

“I am learning — to survive. I am learning — kindness. I am learning,” she said, beginning to realize it herself, “to be human.”

From one the humans declared Outcast? From one who harms, who kills?

“We are not Outcast to each other. And he is learning too.”

Yet you remain separate. You do not even share living spaces. How can you possibly share minds to learn? How can you Dream together?

“We speak. We make mistakes. We try again. That is how we learn.”

You are human after all.

A few months ago, she would have considered that an insult. She _had_ considered it an insult, once flinging the word toward an Edenite like an epithet. But she had changed. The People stayed the same, but for everyone else, this World often brought change.

“No,” she said finally. “I am not human. But I am becoming one. And so is he.”

* * *

The days were becoming noticeably warmer and longer. She found early fruit one afternoon, and brought it to Whalen’s shelter the next morning. “Winter will be over soon.”

He took the fruit she offered and tried a bite. “This is good.”

“I am glad you like it.”

Finishing, he smiled a little, something he had only learned how to do recently. “Do you want to go and see if any other plants are growing again? Maybe we can gather some.”

“You will not hunt today?”

“There is enough for now.”

“Spring has not started yet,” she answered. “There could still be another storm.”

He looked at the sky, reading the signs they both knew by now. “Not today. Let’s go.”

They were passing under a stand of trees when the loud boom reverberated throughout the woods, shaking the ground and sending them both tumbling. Mary looked at the sky, wondering if they’d both been wrong about the storm. What she saw made her catch her breath. “Whalen. Look.”

He did, seeing the spreading green that came down to touch the trees and the earth. “Spring.”

“Yes.” She pushed to her feet again, and he followed, both watching as the world came back to life around them. After a moment, his eyes came down to rest on her.

She felt it and, turning, considered his gaze. He was smiling again. Inhaling, she reached a hand toward him. “Things will be warmer now. For both of us.”

He took her hand. “Yes,” he said. “They will.”


End file.
